


darkness in light

by EKmisao



Series: light and dark [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EKmisao/pseuds/EKmisao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing but darkness. Darkness, and a desperate cry within it. A voice, calling out his name, over and over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keio/gifts).



> Another view of the 'light in darkness' drabble before this one. No guarantee at this point if there will be more.

A sudden gust of air, a rapid rush of force. The whoosh of turbulence, and him within it. A terrible heavy slam onto something that should not be hard. Then nothing. 

Nothing but darkness. 

Darkness, and a desperate cry within it. 

A voice, calling out his name, over and over. 

…………..

It was darkness for a long time, heavy and thick. It was impossible to move in, to sense anything, to know, to even feel. But once in a while that voice pierced through the overwhelming darkness, calling to him, crying so plaintively. 

He sought out the voice, but the voice came from everywhere and nowhere. 

"I have failed you." 

"But find me anyway." 

"Find me." 

"Please." 

……………

The darkness began to lift, slowly. It lifted for a moment, then pulled him down again into its depths. 

He stretched out his arms, weakly, earnestly, reaching out for the voice that kept calling out to him in the darkness. Yet he kept touching empty space, blankness, darkness.

He tried to call back to that voice, but his mouth felt so thick, and so slow. 

And the voice kept calling to him, calling his name. 

"I failed you. But find me anyway. Find me. Please." 

…………..

"Enjolras." 

"Enjolras." 

It was not that voice, the voice that kept calling to him in the darkness. But it was a welcome voice all the same. He finally had strength enough to open his eyes to it. 

"Cen…ter. Hey." 

Combeferre sighed with much relief before smirking at him then cocking the glasses upward. “Long time, pilot." 

"How…..long?" he asked. He still felt tired and heavy. 

The center sighed again, this time with resignation. “You really wanna know?…….Never mind. I’ll tell you eventually when you’re a lot better. Not today." 

There was a tube up his nose, one up his ass, another pricking his arm. The light overhead hurt his eyes. It was tiring to speak. But he had to ask. “Where?" 

"Where what?" Combeferre said. 

"R?" 

"Ah." The center sighed one more time. “Grantaire. He’s gone." 

"Gone?" 

"He left. After that attack. I’m sorry, old friend." 

It was as if he had been told he had lost his right brain. 

He screamed. 

…………….

Combeferre wasted no time and no words when the right moment came. He preferred it that way. They knew each other that well already. 

The Category 4 had sliced the jaeger then threw him bodily out of it. The impact with the ocean bruised his brain, then broke his back, his spinal cord, and a leg. 

He had been in a coma for a month, in and out of consciousness for another. 

He stared at his casted leg. 

He mourned the lack of sense and movement in both his legs. 

But he cried and cried at the loss of his right brain. 

It was his co-pilot’s voice that he kept hearing in his head, through that long terrible darkness. Even now that the darkness had lifted it still pierced through him calling at all hours of the day and night, asking to find him. It sometimes faded into a stuporous daze, but it never left. 

I failed you. But find me anyway. Find me. Please. 

"Find him, center," he begged, implored. “Tell him it was not his fault. It was mine. Tell him he has nothing to apologize for. Tell him to come back." 

The center allowed him to weep uncontrollably onto the sheets.


	2. the darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the two short tumblr posts after the first one. Thank you for still reading.

They called Enjolras the light. 

But Grantaire was his darkness. 

The co-pilot was everything Enjolras was not. He seemed lazy. He preferred small fun moments. He daydreamed. He liked coffee. Dark and strong. For the morning hangovers. He drank. And drank some more. He frowned. He kept quiet more than he talked. He smirked. He doubted. 

His deepest thoughts were filled with that darkness he hid from the others. Doubts of what he can do. Fears of being inadequate. Terrors of making crucial mistakes. Worries of failing, of failure, of causing hurt, maybe death. 

The co-pilot questioned practically everything: the piloting technique, the maneuvers, the decisions. Sometimes he even doubted why he was in the resistance, and questioned every tenet that the resistance stood for. But in doing so, Enjolras saw his actions more clearly, decided his convictions more certainly. The light shined clearer with the darkness. 

The darkness kept Enjolras grounded, stable, confident. The pilot could not explain why. 

It was in that darkness that the light shined brighter. 

Now that the darkness was gone, the light was just one blinding thing, sharp, undefined, uncontrolled. 

.............................

On several occasions they forced him to settle back to sleep. Otherwise he would not have stopped crying or screaming. 

It was part of the healing process, so said the wise and loyal center, who stayed the most often and the longest times. The brain was getting its bearings back, and everything was being rewired. 

But his brain also kept playing back the moment when… he was not even sure, even now, what exactly happened. He just knew what Combeferre told him. 

His brain kept replaying a moment when the Drift suddenly was sliced in half, when his mind suddenly felt chopped into splinters. His eyes saw dark clouds speeding overhead. His brain filled with an immense darkness, and a piercing screaming of his name, over and over. 

When they passed the morphine through him, the screams subsided, and everything turned blank. But the morphine faded, the blankness was filled with darkness, and the screams returned. 

"Where is he, center?" he implored. “Where in the hell that these monsters made is that annoying stupid cynical drunk?" He held his head and gripped it hard by the temples, keeping the pounding screams away. 

"We’ve been trying to locate him," Combeferre answered calmly. “Courfeyrac says Grantaire has removed all possible locator devices and systems. The others have not had recent sighting at the nearby bars. The other divisions have been alerted, but none have seen him."

"He can’t be far," Enjolras said. Because if he was feeling that miserable, it was impossible that his co-pilot was not feeling the same. Already he knew when it was that Grantaire was dead drunk: the screams died down for several hours, in a stuporous haze.

The neural connection between had been cut roughly, thus not at all. The Drift kept, drifting, between them, haphazardly, painfully.


	3. no sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer-ish tumblr post. also known as: you probably wouldn't like me much in real life. or you'll find yourself exhausted about me. (sigh) 
> 
> \- possible suicide attempt triggers, fair warning. -

"NO, my friend, NO." 

He kept saying it over and over in his head, hoping to undo something potentially stupid, and deadly. 

"What do you mean, no?" the center asked. 

"Not you, I’m not talking to you." The light groaned and held his head. “Leave me alone, center, I need to concentrate." 

"Who are you talking to, then?" Combeferre asked. 

"Just…go away, I’ll explain later. Okay?" 

Combeferre shrugged, but left the room. 

Enjolras had been filled with thoughts of several things: sleep, forever, alcohol, sleeping pills. All together. Not by himself, but he who kept calling his name in the night. 

I don’t want this anymore. I want to sleep. And not wake up. And stop the screams. Forever. 

So Enjolras kept shouting back: “No, my friend, no. You will find me again if you try. But do not do this. Don’t." 

I have failed you. I should not be found. I just want the screams to stop. Your screams. Because I have failed you. 

Sleep. Forever. Alcohol. Valium. Together. Sleep. Forever. 

"NO, my friend, no." He kept calling from the fractured Drift. He did not know where the co-pilot was exactly. But he felt his mind, and that mind was desperate. 

I have failed you. I do not deserve to be found. Find me anyway. But what is the use. I just want to sleep. Forever. Find me. Before I sleep. Forever. I have failed you. 

"You are making no sense!" 

I never did. You know that. I have failed you. I do not deserve to be found. Let me sleep. 

"No, my friend, no. Do not do this. Please." He concentrated all his thoughts into the fractured Drift. He searched out for the thoughts of his darkness, and held on to it, as well as he could. 

Sleep. Forever. Alcohol. Valium. Together. Sleep. Forever. 

I have a pill bottle. Full. Two or three will do it. Five will be certain. Maybe six? 

"NO!" 

Keep trying, my light. Keep trying. Maybe I will obey. 

"You will obey, because this is a direct order! You will not do this! No, my friend. You will not." 

One. Valium. 

Two. 

"STOP, Grantaire!" 

One bottle. 

"It will stay capped, you hear!" 

Maybe. I have failed you. Why do you even bother, my light? Why. 

"Because you are my darkness. And you will find me, if you try. Do not stop trying. Come and find me." 

Why. 

"Because I need you." 

No, you don’t. 

"Yes, Grantaire. I do." 

Sleepy. 

"Then sleep. But come back to me. I don’t care if it’s screaming out my name. But come back." 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

Maybe. 

Enjolras felt the stuporous haze descend on him, and nothing more. 

He sighed deeply, with much relief, as he too fell back in a heavy, exhausted faint. 

……………………

"Enjolras?" 

The pilot woke up weakly to the center’s voice. 

"You alright?" 

He nodded. The noise in his head had resumed like normal, calling his name from the Drift. 

I have failed you. But find me anyway. Please. 

"How is he?" Combeferre asked, quietly. 

Enjolras smiled. “He’ll be fine. Eventually. But please, find him."


	4. tracker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with added people, and more lines. These are the two earlier tumblr posts. 
> 
> Thank you for still reading.

"We have a scooter for you, chief, and a motorized wheelchair," their young mechanic proudly declared. As was the way of this smart street rat, the scooter was made from salvaged re-utilized parts of various junked motorcycles, and the wheelchair was the composite of a comfortable chair, levers, a spare powerful motor, and spare wheels. “What’ll you have?" 

"Both, and thank you," Enjolras said with a smile. His mind was already planning five steps ahead of Gavroche, and everyone else. The scooter could be used for rapidly moving through the base, checking jaegers, weapons, and the base itself. The wheelchair could be used in traversing the quarters and the control room. 

Enjolras also chuckled at a monitor Courfeyrac had moved to one side of his wide control panel, unobtrusive to regular anti-kaiju work but easily accessible. The coordinator had labeled the monitor “Lost Drunk Tracker" with a sub-label “Accepts Any and All Info, Thank You!" 

Everyone else had been busy training hard for future attacks, now that they were one jaeger short, in hundreds of pieces scattered across a repair floor for Gavroche to sort out. In their spare time they too scoured the nearby areas, going through crowds and bars, hoping for any sign of the co-pilot. 

Enjolras himself had been busy learning how to live without his legs. That had been hard of itself, without a voice constantly pounding at his head. But there was a war to fight, and battles to win, co-pilot or no co-pilot. People looked toward him, even outside of a jaeger cockpit.

The ace pilot therefore became the tactician, as the center continued to be the strategist. From the control booth Combeferre planned the general course of attack. Enjolras gave the specific orders as the attack commenced, coordinating the maneuvers and shots. 

Only Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew that those maneuvers were not originally Enjolras’s. They were Grantaire’s. Enjolras incorporated them into their joint movements when they were piloting. 

Kaiju continued to fall. 

The light became the face of the resistance, facing the media whenever a united front had to be shown. The wheelchair was feared in the newsrooms. 

The resistance continued to recruit more followers and helpers, all swayed by the power in Enjolras’s words and actions. The scooter was a familiar sight through the base, speeding through the transport alleys and bays. 

He had to be strong, and tough, and brave. At least when people were looking. 

When everyone was fast asleep in their quarters, Enjolras alone remained at the control booth, in front of the Lost Drunk Tracker monitor. 

The monitor remained silent, displaying no lights across its map of the area. 

But his head resumed its pounding. The screams that were masked by the day’s work, they resurfaced in the silence of the night. 

I have failed you. But find me anyway. 

...........................

"Talk to me, coordinator," the center ordered. 

Courfeyrac spoke directly, with urgency. “Second wave, center. One category two, one category four." 

"Available jaegers?" 

"Three. If you count ‘Ponine." 

Combeferre nodded. He reached for the microphone. “Eponine. Get ready to deploy." 

The response was quick and excited. “Really?" 

"You trained with Marius, right? Prepare to deploy." 

It was the bookkeeper who replied. “WHAT?!" 

"You scared, new guy?" Combeferre teased. 

The bookkeeper audibly gulped. “Maybe?" 

"Relax, newbie! I have you covered!" Eponine’s voice came through the receivers. “The light will be in charge, right?" 

"Yes," Enjolras called out from beside Combeferre. “As long as your team is good." 

"As good as it’ll ever be!" Eponine cheerfully said. 

"Are you out of your mind?!" came Marius’s voice.

And several more protests and assurances were heard over the receiver, as the center and coordinator chuckled.

Enjolras, however, was also not assured. He blocked the public address system. “Are you sure they are ready?"

"As long as you are giving them directions. They will learn their style in time," the center answered.

But that was the exact moment his head began to pound. He shut his eyes and squeezed them tighter. He held his head and pressed his hands onto his temples.

Between a rising stuporous haze, he felt a terrible sequence of numbers.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

It was late evening when those kaiju decided their second wave. Everyone was awake because of the category two and four. But it would not be unheard-of if someone else was trying to sleep. And thinking, again, of sleeping forever.

The center did not miss a beat, while the light squeezed his head. “It’s him, yeah?" 

"Yeah. Always he has awful timing." Enjolras winced at the screams and pounding. 

"Choose your battle," Combeferre said calmly. “Greater good or singular good?" 

"Can’t I choose both?" 

"Category two, incoming!" Courfeyrac interrupted. 

"You can only concentrate for one," the center told the light. “Choose." 

Enjolras glared up at Combeferre. “I choose both." 

The center raised his glasses upward. “Whatever. But concentrate." 

Enjolras nodded.

"One: Greater Good."

He stared at the control panel monitors, watching the jaegers as they deployed, evaluating the kaiju as they moved, estimating distances from the city, the base, and the sea. His head pounded, but he kept it at bay. 

"Wait for me a moment, my friend, wait for a moment," he spoke to his head. Then he asked aloud: "Estimated landfall, coordinator." 

"Thirty minutes," Courfeyrac said. 

"Enough time. Team 1 to the category two. Bahorel to the category four." 

He reached for the microphone. “Eponine. Listen to me. You have the lightest jaeger. Dance around both kaiju. Shoot at them while the veterans keeps them occupied. Weaken them from several directions while the two others keep the main attack. I leave it to you how you plan to move, but keep your trackers open to the coordinator, so he can direct your movements. Can you do that?" 

"That’s info-dump!" Eponine protested from the cockpit. 

"I didn’t understand!" said her co-pilot in a panic. 

"It’s okay, kids, I understood what he said, I’ll guide you through it," Courfeyrac replied. “Anything else, chief?" 

"Keep ‘Ponine circling around both kaiju, unpredictably," he ordered. “Supply firepower from the base as backup. The two other jaegers should keep the focus on themselves and away from the shooter. Finish them off as quickly as you can." He looked up at Combeferre. “That’s the plan. Can you run it?"

"Who do you think I am?" The center chuckled. "Singular good, then. Go on and talk to that loser." 

"How dare you," Enjolras grinned. 

"Give my regards. Now go. I’ll wake you if I need to."

Combeferre gave him a pat. Then he reached for the public address. “Commence attack."

…………………………..

It was more than ironic that a human brain was harder to fight than an alien one. But then this battle with a human brain was solitary, and the battle with the kaiju was a battle fought with friends. Well-meaning they may be, but he could never bring his friends into his nightmare, and that of his darkness.

One. Two. Three —

"NO, Grantaire. We’ve been through this before." 

Four. Five —

He never did understand why Grantaire did not seem to have seen all the many media appearances he already made. Bars had television sets, did they not? 

Not real. Not real. Not real. Not real. 

"I am here. I am real. Do you understand, my friend? You did no wrong. Come back to us. We need you. I need you." 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six —

The sleeping pills he had in his hand, ready for putting into his mouth, altogether. “NO, my friend, no," Enjolras repeated. “Let me find you. Let me help you." 

No. You don’t need me. You don’t. 

He felt a shaking at his shoulders. He heard the center’s muffled voice just beyond him. Something was going wrong with the attack. 

See? You don’t need me. You don’t. 

He needed to get out of the fractured Drift. But he needed to be sure the co-pilot would be alright. 

"Come back, you silly drunk. I can’t get in a jaeger without you. Come back. Let me help you." 

More of the stuporous haze came to him. At least the counting had stopped. His friend was falling asleep on the alcohol. But only that. 

How? 

"Reactivate a signature. Something Courfeyrac can find." 

Will the old ID do? 

"Yes." 

Okay. 

…………………………

Enjolras woke up. Courfeyrac and Combeferre were above him. Both sighed with relief. 

"What’s wrong?" he asked. “Are ‘Ponine and Marius in trouble? Give me the coordinates…" 

"Huh?" The coordinator looked him oddly, then smiled, then laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about them! They gave the kaiju hell!" 

Enjolras smiled. Good for her. “Why the long faces, then?" 

"We thought you were never coming back to us, sleeping beauty," the center added. “Good morning."


	5. lost sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are some of the last tumblr posts. Generally written in various states of insanity. And beffudlement why the khaleesi likes them so much. Thank you so much for all the kudos.

Enjolras opened his eyes and yawned. 

He blinked as he found his room filled by a small control panel, Joly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac. The control panel had one display of several continuous wave patterns in five parallel lines, one with one long line that spiked upward regularly, and one with colored renditions of the halves of a brain. His left hand had an intravenous line. He raised an eyebrow.

"Good…..morning?"

"Long time, chief," Courfeyrac greeted back, with a long breath. 

"What do you mean?"

It was Joly who replied. “Chief, you’ve been in REM for thirty-six hours, and non-REM delta for forty-eight. You have registered beta waves only in the last hour, and alpha waves only now. Cardiac sinus rhythm was maintained, but bradycardia more associated with…."

Enjolras sighed. He hated technical language, whether from the center or the doctor. “English, doc, English." 

Joly sighed, as he pointed to the displays. “English: You’ve been in dream sleep for a day and a half, and very deep non-dreaming sleep, almost a coma, for two days. So I ask in plain English: Are. You. Alright?"

"I….think so?" he replied. 

To Enjolras it just felt like a restful sleep of a few hours from a long day. Then again he was probably not the best judge of that anymore. Whether in the night or in the day, he always felt awake. During the day he dealt with matters of the resistance. On busy nights he orchestrated the kaiju attacks. On quiet nights his brain filled with screams or plaintive cries to be found. 

After two weeks of successive kaiju attacks, the subsequent media blitz, and constant attempts to request for non-Drift contact, Enjolras lay down and immediately fell asleep.

For four days. 

No wonder it was suddenly so quiet in his head. 

Joly sighed. “Your narcolepsy will be the death of me, soon enough." 

............................................

Courfeyrac stared at the monitors of the control panel. He particularly stared at one at the far right end of his table. 

He rubbed his eyes. He rubbed them again. 

He stared again. 

He sat down in front of the monitor. He drew his eyes close to the panel. He withdrew. He brought them closer. He stared. He rubbed his eyes. He pressed on several buttons. He stared at the display again. He kept staring. 

"Center." 

"Yeah, Courfeyrac?" 

"How many bottles have I had?" 

"Hmmmmm…….three was what I saw." 

Courfeyrac chuckled. Trust Combeferre to know how many bottles of beer everyone has had at the victory party. “Always the center. Always keeping tabs. Even after two bottles." 

"Why do you ask?" Combeferre asked, matter-of-factly. 

"Where is Enjolras?" Courfeyrac did not answer, instead asked another question. 

"Knocked out. Dog-tired. It was a long rally, then a long crazy attack, after all," the center answered. 

"Can you or the doc manage to wake up that sleeping beauty?" the coordinator asked, without looking away from the displays. 

"I can try. But why?" 

Courfeyrac pointed at the monitor where he was: the Lost Drunk Tracker. 

A small light steadily pulsed. 

.............................

The core members of the resistance assembled around the control room, with the exception of the light, fully unconscious in his quarters. They all stared at the monitor at the far-right corner of the control panel, at the small pulsing in the middle of it. 

"The brainstem locator has been activated," Joly began to explain. “It has activated a genetic geo-locator implanted into every member of the resistance. This is an emergency trigger and implies that the subject is in a state of possible cerebral or cerebellar damage…" 

"ENGLISH, DOC!" Several people demanded together. 

"I’ll take it from here." Courfeyrac raised a hand. “We all have one failsafe locator, and Joly and I have made sure that it activates only in the worst moment. That’s so we can find you, wherever you are, when it totally matters. So: if anybody is rendered unconscious in a bad way, something at the back of your neck — what Joly calls your brainstem — starts that code, and starts a bleeping signal to me. The last time everyone saw this work, it was with Enjolras. When THAT happened." 

Jehan, their mathematician, pulled at his long hair, unbraided it, rebraided it in multiples of ten strands.

Combeferre slapped his forehead. “Neither I nor Enjolras know this, damn you, coordinator!"

"It’s just a fail-safe! Because Joly’s such a worry-wart!" Courfeyrac protested.

"More importantly!" Marius interrupted. “If the fail-safe thingy is bleeping, what does that mean about Grantaire, please?" 

"Your time is limited, if you want to find him, and get him to safety," Joly answered, quietly but firmly. 

"Sacre-bleu, pardieu, shit, fuck, damn you to hell, you will hear from me and from Enjolras later, Courfeyrac! You, too, Joly! How dare you, you’ve been lacing our food with tracers!" Combeferre yelled.

"But right now…" 

Combeferre, quite suddenly, flipped open and pressed the red-alert button. This created a blaring alarm to sound throughout the base for half a minute. 

He then switched the alarm off, and reached for the microphone. 

"Operation: Lost Sheep will now commence. This is just to inform majority of you. Most regular operations of the base will proceed as normal. Most of you can go back to sleep after the too many beers. But I need you all to be aware of this. Again, Operation: Lost Sheep will now commence. My call sign will be Shepherd. You can jive me about the being cheesy later. ‘Ponine, call sign Hunting Dog. Be ready to deploy on a single jet…" 

"Hunting Dog?" Eponine protested. “Can I be Cocker Spaniel? That’s a shepherding dog too."

"Fine, call sign Cocker Spaniel." Combeferre rubbed his forehead. “Deploy on a single jet. I’ll need you to confirm a set of coordinates we will send you. Bahorel, Feuilly. Call sign Doberman. Deploy on defence mode. Keep an eye on the Spaniel’s back."

"With all due respect," Courfeyrac interrupted, “your brain is moving too fast again, center. What exactly are we doing?"

"Call sign Pointer," Combeferre replied to him. “We’re going after that lost sheep you just found. Lead the way. Triangulate the location of that signal. Give me coordinates that I can give ‘Ponine."

Courfeyrac slapped his own forehead and laughed. “And how long have you had that speech and this battle plan laid out?"

"For as long as he’s been gone." Combeferre cocked his glasses.

"Softie," the coordinator teased.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the string of tumblr posts about Operation Lost Sheep. Thank you for reading.

Enjolras walked aimlessly through the Drift. Something was wrong about something. Something was always Grantaire, of course, but at the moment he did not know exactly what was wrong. That worried him. 

For one, he could not feel the co-pilot. 

Even when he was fully tired he sensed the co-pilot in his mind. He just could not respond to him whenever his whole system shut down to rest. 

He called out his name in the darkness, desperately hoping for an answer, any kind of answer. 

"Grantaire, you crazy fool! Where the hell are you?!" he shouted for no one to hear. 

-Goodbye, my light.- 

It was faint, and weak. He stopped moving, stopped shouting, and listened. 

-Goodbye-

-my light.- 

"No one is leaving anything!" he yelled into the darkness. “Where the hell are you, Grantaire?!" 

-Good….bye…- 

"How many have you had, you fool! How many?!" 

-Goodbye, my light.- 

"Hell, no!" 

He reached out into the darkness, not knowing how or why or what. But he kept stretching out his hand and his arm, reaching out for his co-pilot, his friend, his darkness, his half. 

"Find my hand! Hold it. Hold on to it. And don’t let go!" 

-Goodbye…-

"NO. Not for a long time. Find my hand, and grab for it." 

He scrambled in that thick darkness, finding something solid, something he could hold and grasp and clasp tight. 

-So…far…-

"Come, my friend. Reach out. I’m here."

He kept reaching through the darkness. He struggled and pushed through the thickness of the dark. 

-So…far…- 

He punched through the thick haze. He found a shift in the density.

He found a someone, curled up into a tight ball of himself, gasping slowly.

He reached for the hand, clasped his fingers around it tightly and firmly.

"I got you, R. Stay with me. You’re not leaving me. You’re not saying goodbye. You hear me?"

-My light.-

"Yeah, I’m here, you silly stupid thing. I’m here. Stay with me."

-My light.-

He kept holding the cold, clammy hand, held it well inside both of his own. He held it as he felt him breathing very weakly, very faintly.

"Stay with me. You’re worth it, R. Let no one say otherwise. Stay with me. Then come back to me. You will come back to me, you hear."

-Bye.-

"No, my friend. Stay with me. Stay awake for me. Just for a little while. Until I’m sure you’ll be okay. Stay with me. Stay awake."

-Stay.-

He clasped the hand, tighter than he ever had in all the time he knew him. He listened to the weak, faint breathing through the darkness. “Yes, I will. But you have to stay with me. Alright?"

-Stay.-

He held the hand. He reached out as far as he could and wrapped his other arm around the cold body. “I’m here, my friend. I’m here." 

-Stay.-

"Always." 

............................

"Can’t I do something?" Marius asked Combeferre. “I mean, you made Eponine and the others do stuff…" 

"He’s nothing to you, newbie," Combeferre replied, as he kept his eyes on the small pulsing light on the far-right monitor. He clenched and unclenched a fist, kept his breathing deep and even. 

"That’s not exactly true anymore, center," Marius said. “All the stories, how you all worry so much…Please, let me do one thing. For all of you. Let me help you. For his sake, of course….but mostly, for you."

Combeferre turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean….not you, you, but all of you. For being nice to me and all. Let me help you find this friend of yours, Enjolras’s friend. Okay?"

The center scratched his head as he turned again toward the displays. “Fine, Marius. Take the land route. Take the rover and head east from the capital. Wait for instructions."

"Thanks, center."

"Shut up and go," Combeferre said, with a grin.

……………………….

It did not take long for Eponine to confirm the coordinates, as she circled the area with the jet. “It’s getting a little faint, though," she warned.

"Are you getting Puppy’s signatures, Cocker Spaniel?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Yeah, he’s coming. I can’t believe he could drive like that!" She chuckled.

"Keep circling, and narrow the range. Give him specific directions."

"Sure, Pointer!" she happily said. 

…………………..

Marius rapidly took the highway, then the cloverleaf, then turned at the intersection, following guidance from both Eponine and Courfeyrac. It was a chance to be useful, to be truly useful. Not just balancing the books and explaining legal jargon to people who could care less. He was really and truly doing something. 

They told him to turn right, go left, go straight, forward toward a small run-down hostel. 

"Stop," Eponine said. He heard the gentle whirring of the jet circling overhead. “This is it." 

Marius parked the rover. He dutifully headed toward the hostel. “I’m going in, okay?" 

"Be careful, Puppy," Courfeyrac said. 

Marius bravely marched toward a receptionist. “I need to find a friend," he said after giving his details and convincing the lady that he was not police nor insane. “He may be in trouble." 

"Who are you again?" 

"I……um…..well……I’m sorta a jaeger pilot?" he sheepishly said. 

"Well, why didn’t you say so! Anything for that cutie angel pilot and his friends!" said the receptionist. “Poor thing, such a cruel thing to happen…" 

"And I’m friends with the jaeger pilot who rents here?"

"There’s a jaeger pilot here?" the receptionist asked.

Marius nodded.

"OH, go on up, go on up! But introduce me!"

Poor Marius promised that he will, and gently wrenched himself away from the starry-eyed woman. As several people laughed into his ears, listening to the conversation from his earpiece. 

"That’s enough, you guys. Where next?"

"Two doors down," Eponine directed. 

Marius stopped at an old wooden door, with paint cracking from the edges. “Behind this door, ‘Ponine?"

"Yep!" 

"Are you absolutely sure?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, then." 

Marius took a deep breath. He pulled back. 

He kicked the door open. 

"Sorry!" 

But he went in, anyway, treading carefully. 

Past the door, past the small closet, past the small bathroom, he found a body.

He found a young man with dark curls, fallen on his side on the carpeted floor. White pills spilled from an open bottle in his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome artwork from K of the co-pilots can be found [over here](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/57561578869/wherever-youre-going-im-going-your-way), if you haven't seen it yet. 
> 
> I understand some of you are here precisely because of that piece of awesome. Thank you for liking so far.

Enjolras held him close in the darkness of the Drift, his arms wrapped around the cold frame. He leaned the head onto his shoulder, and ran his fingers through the dark curls. 

The breaths paused. 

"Grantaire." 

"Grantaire!" 

"Breathe, Grantaire!" 

He heard a quiet wisp of air hesitate over his ear. He wrapped himself tighter around the chest, until he was sure he felt the weak heartbeats. 

He heard another hesitant gasp. 

"That’s it, my friend. Stay with me. Stay." 

-Bye.- 

"No, stay with me, Grantaire. Stay. You’re not leaving me alone." 

He heard another gentle gasp of air. He felt a quickening of the heart. 

-Why.- 

-Why.- 

"Because I….love you. No matter how much you fail me. It will always be true. I love you." 

He placed his lips onto the cold pale ones, and breathed life and love into them. 

…………………………..

Marius stared at the carpeted floor, and at the young man sprawled over it. 

"Calling Puppy," Eponine’s voice came to his left ear. "You okay?" 

"Honestly?" he said. He kept staring in front of me, feeling his heart pound heavily in his chest, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead. "I don’t know what to do."

He heard another voice through the earpiece: Joly. “Reach for his hand and find a pulse.”

"Okay." He breathed once, twice. "I can do that." 

He advanced a foot, then another. He kneeled. He extended an arm, and held a wrist. 

He felt a weak, but regular beat. He let out a long relieved sigh. “Got it. Now what?”

"Eyes half-open?" Joly asked through the earpiece.

Marius gulped but peered down at the face on the carpeted floor. The eyeballs were rolled up into half-open eyelids. “Y-yeah. I think.”

He heard more long relieved sighs through his earpiece.

He heard chuckles, then laughter. A sudden burst of pent-up joy. 

"Oh, thank goodness Hippocrates! Galen Netter Snell! Guyton Robbins! Harrison Schwartz Kaplan…" *

"What’s that, doc?"

He heard insanely-relieved laughter. “I will never doubt Enjolras again, ever! By all the journals in PubMed! By all the journals on MedLine and all the articles on eMedicine.com! By all that confounded pay-per-view Elsevier journal library! By all the Cochrane Library! I swear this!” There was more desperate happy laughter. ** 

"Are you okay, doc?" Marius finally asked. 

"Yes! Hell, yes!" 

"Can someone please explain why the doctor is going crazy?" Combeferre interrupted the exchange. 

"Enjolras gone done it, center! That he has!" Joly continued squealing. "He saved him, in the Drift!" 

...........................

Enjolras released his firm hold on the co-pilot, only when he was absolutely sure Grantaire was breathing well, and stopped saying goodbye with every breath. Even as the co-pilot slept in the Drift, he held his hand, and squeezed it often. 

"I am here. Stay with me," he kept telling him. "Don’t leave me." 

He only released him when he felt the distant undercurrent of screams, the thoughts hidden deeply in a working, awake brain. Only then did he dare separate from him, to resurface from the Drift, to open his eyes. 

He felt like he had held on to a sinking ship, staying afloat against steady terrifyingly strong current. He was exhausted. He breathed deeply as he regained his bearings on the land of the living. 

He found Combeferre and Joly peering down at him. 

"Is he okay?" he asked them. 

"Why don’t you worry about yourself, first, light?" Combeferre smiled. 

"Answer me, please," he begged. 

Joly scratched his head and replied. “Of a sort. He was found in time for emergency management of the overdose.”

"He’s awake."

"Marius says he is, finally," Joly answered. "Reliable kid, that newbie."

"Wait. You know where he is."

"He tripped the black-box locator, so, yes," Combeferre explained.

He stared at Combeferre. He remembered all that pain he felt in his thoughts, for much too long. He recalled waking, so many months ago now, to the co-pilot calling his name, over and over. 

"Center…center…" 

"I know, old pal, I know." Combeferre patted his hand. "I’m getting him back. Very soon." 

"Thank you, center," Enjolras said.

Then he sat up. “Meanwhile, we have work to do. Someone get me some coffee.” 

Joly rolled his eyes and shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hippocrates (father of medicine) and Galen (father of modern anatomy) most of you know. The other surnames are original authors of medical school textbooks. (Sorry, in my country we tend to use Snell's Anatomy and Netter's Atlas of Human Anatomy, not Gray's Anatomy; we find it cumbersome.)
> 
> ** These are online resources for medical journals and articles. 
> 
> In other words, Joly was giving thanks to medical gods and medical stars in the heavens. ^^;;; (I needed to explain this to K, so I figure some more of you may also need it.)


	8. welcome to night base + drift singularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first crazy part is a parody of Welcome to Night Vale, which can be found [here](http://commonplacebooks.com/welcome-to-night-vale) , and is a free twilight-zone-ish comedy podcast, available in the iTunes version [here](https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/welcome-to-night-vale/id536258179#). (Other versions are available on the first link.) 
> 
> Stuff related to the running story does happen in that first section, so please bear with it and enjoy. 
> 
> You have K and stormberry to blame for that section, because they introduced me.
> 
> Also, there are sketches of Eponine and Gavroche in this universe from K, [over here](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/57833901626/the-terrible-thenardiers-gav-as-a-genius-jaeger), enjoy.

"Kaiju are your friends. They are just misunderstood. Make them your friends," came the quiet deadpan voice over the public address system. "Welcome to the night base."

"What the HELL?!" swore their young mechanic, working overtime on piecing together a new jaeger from old parts. 

Then came some airy, spacey, trance-y music that could only be attributed to their flowery mathematician Jehan, over the PA system. No one had any idea how the control center managed to get hold of Jehan’s trance music CDs. 

"Welcome to your weekly dose of news, updates, and general absurdity to be found in the base of the resistance," continued the voice, deep, soothing, and calm. "We’d like to greet all our listeners around the base, whether they are asleep, awake, drunk, or high. But, the news." 

"Um….Eponine, what in the world is this?" Marius, recently arrived from the hospital in the suburbs, had to ask, gesturing to the nearest loudspeaker. 

"Ah. So this your first time," Eponine said, closing the cockpit of the jaeger. "Congrats, newbie. NOW you’ve seen everything." 

"Enjolras, with the beautiful, long flowing, smooth, perfect hair, has finally graced us with his presence in the dining room," calmly said the deadpan voice. "This, after he scared the center and the doctor quite to death by doing the sleeping-beauty act, again. -But.- It must be said, dear listeners all throughout the base, that if you have to be stuck with a sleeping beauty, oh, how beautiful that beauty is. Such perfect hair, flowing gently by a shoulder, coursing through the valley that is that chiseled chest…" 

Courfeyrac, eating slowly in the canteen, laughed over his soup, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain himself. 

"The doctor agrees with me, fellow members of the resistance, though he will always deny it. He, too, watches from behind his monitors with the many squiggly lines, gazing at those alluring long golden locks." 

"You are delusional!" Joly’s voice echoed through the sound system, coming from another microphone, from another room. "Schizophrenic! Sleep-deprived!" 

"Ah, yes, I do have to concur on that last one," the calm deep voice. "-But.- It has been worth it. If you have to worry about two numbskulls for this long, getting nothing in return, you might as well enjoy looking at those beautiful, perfect, long locks of gold, dreaming about them in your fractured sleep. Anyway. The weather!"

More of Jehan’s trippy trance-y music came over the PA. Along with it came the jumbled, rapid, and loud voice of Enjolras from the control center. 

"Eponine, is everything alright?" Marius asked.

"It’ll pass like a glow cloud, don’t worry about it," Eponine brushed it aside.

"More updates on the perfect long locks," came the deep calm voice. "Its owner has just been in the control booth, screaming why I seem to have devoted so many minutes discussing them. Well, ladies and gentlemen of the resistance, it seems a topic worthy of discussion, after so many days of important events, like the having spaghetti in the cafeteria, or Feuilly adopting a stray cat as a pet…" 

"Combeferre! Get some sleep already!" screamed Enjolras for the entire base to hear. 

"You’ve heard it, folks," the voice announced. "The secret police is now stopping this broadcast…" 

"And will you please stop listening to that crazy podcast!" Enjolras shouted again. Tussling across the control room was heard, along with falling chairs, equipment, and a wheelchair. “Let….go…..of that…..mic!” Enjolras ordered as technical screeching pierced the loudspeakers. 

A final screech of the microphone, a shrill noise, then Combeferre’s voice. “Sorry, listeners! They’re after me! Until they allow me here again, goodnight, night base, goodnight!” 

A heavy punch was heard, then all was quiet. 

Eponine shrugged, yawned, and headed to her quarters, with Marius walking behind her, scratching his head. 

 

.................................................

Enjolras’ head pounded with a different message, one he needed to answer. 

\- I am still here. I am still here. Why am I still here. I should not be here. I should not be alive. Why am I.- 

It assured him that the co-pilot was awake and aware and alive, but he needed to answer the question if he wanted to keep it that way.  
"I need you, Grantaire. You are the darkness to my light. That is why. Believe me, I need you." 

\- That is a lie, a lie, a lie.- 

"No. Forever, my friend, my ally, my partner, no." 

\- You are merely my dreams, my nightmares. You are not real. You are dead, and so should I be.- 

\- Should be dead. Should be dead. Let me. Let me go. Let me.- 

\- I am still here. I should not be.-

The messages faded for a few hours then returned, repeated in an endless cycle.

To which he kept answering back, as often as he needed to: “Come back to me. I will prove to you that I am here, that I need you with me. Come back. To me.”

He kept answering as he inspected the repairs, as he coordinated the practice drills. His mind kept replying and responding, even as he encouraged the rest of the base in groups and batches, moving around on the wheelchair. He assured them that the resistance was strong, that the fight was in them…even as he kept fighting monsters in a friend’s despairing mind.

"The new jaeger is almost ready, chief," their young mechanic reported with a grin. "She’ll be good to go, when he is."

"Have you made the modifications?" Enjolras asked.

"You never had to ask," Gavroche tipped his cap and grinned widely. "Done, and done. What do you wanna call it?"

From the laboratory section, near the repair area, the mathematician started singing, “Moooooooooon Riiiiiiiverrrrrrrr, wider than a mile…..”

"Heck, no, you mushy math geek!" Enjolras laughed.

"Twooooooo -Drifters-, off to see the wooooooorld," Jehan continued loudly, smiling widely at him. "There’s suuuuuuch a lot of world, to seeeeeee…." 

While Enjolras now understood the reference, no way was he going to call any jaeger Moon River, thank you very much. That was a nice name for a boat, or a ship, but not a fighting machine. 

Meanwhile, his head kept pounding. 

\- I am still here. I am still here. Why am I still here. I should not be here. I should not be alive. Why am I.- 

" ‘Drift’ definitely has to be in there," Enjolras said, with a sad chuckle. He had spent so long in it, trying to get his partner back. "And a darkness," he added with a sigh. 

"Singularity," Jehan called out. "Mathematical representation of a black hole. A hypothetical point in space-time at which matter is infinitely compressed to infinitesimal volume.” 

"Singularity," Courfeyrac added from the control panels. "A state of being unique, unusual, or peculiar, but of being one." 

"You are a Drift singularity, that is certain, chief," Jehan said, before resuming: "You dreeeeeeam maker, you heaaaaaart breakerrrrr, wherever you’re goooooing, I’m going your way…"

Enjolras rubbed his chin, considering it. “I kinda like Drift Singularity. What does the center think?”

"He ain’t here, light," Courfeyrac called out.

"What do you mean?"

"He’s off to get a lost sheep!" the coordinator said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definition from here: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/singularity


	9. darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if there will be a chapter after this. I have vague plans for another story in the series after this one, but we'll see. 
> 
> Again thank you so much for tolerating the musings of a fried brain. Thank you for thinking it was good stuff. I was never sure about that. Much thanks to K for giving the initial idea and for putting up with me, and all my miserable tumblr headings, all this time.
> 
> Awesome art from K of this section, [over here](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/58774319487/my-huckleberry-friend-i-got-feels-while-i-was).

Combeferre signed the papers, explained his relationship to the medical staff, convinced them there were no other closer relatives to do it. He convinced them not to tell the patient who was doing this; that the patient would know anyway.

He signed the waiver forms, releasing an actively suicidal patient to his custody, relieving the medical staff of all responsibility.

Then he waited.

After two hours of clearance procedures, he found a young man with dark curly hair walk out of the hospital, wearing the dark leather jacket of a jaeger pilot, dusty and weather-worn at the elbows.

The young man, head bowed, dragged his feet toward the nearby bar.

He waited for an hour. Then he entered after him. 

He found Grantaire slumped across the bar table, two bottles already consumed near him. He took the third one away, at the same time Grantaire reached for it.

He was glad to see the recognition in the dimmed, bleary eyes.

"The resistance needs you sober, for you to pilot," he said.

The pilot sighed. “The resistance does not need this pilot.”

……………………………

He let the co-pilot sleep in the helicopter, slumped over the seats. His eyes had dark, hollowed rings. His cheeks were outlined on a pale face, with ashen lips. The young man looked weary, of life, of himself, of existing. 

"I wish you knew what I know about your friend, Graintaire," he mused. "All the pain he went through for you. I wish you knew." 

………………………………

"Enjolras." 

"Enjolras." 

He slowly surfaced from shallow sleep, seated on the wheelchair while in the control booth, watching crews work earnestly around jets, weapons, and kaiju. 

It was not the voice he desperately wanted to be calling him, but again it was a welcome friendly voice, and he opened his eyes. 

"Enjolras, hey, chief," Courfeyrac called out, waving at him to approach the monitor he was at. 

Enjolras steered the chair toward the coordinator. He peered at the monitor. 

It showed the cameras around the helipad. A small helicopter’s propellers were slowly ending their spinning, as two men descended from the passenger hull. 

The first one, tall and commanding, stood as one who owned the place, which he partly did, and gave rapid instructions left and right to the people who surrounded him. The other, with dark curly but lengthened, uncut, wispy and limp hair, gaunt in the face, thinned out under a dusty leather pilot’s jacket, stared upward in saddened awe, his back hunched down. 

Enjolras caught his breath. A tear fell too quickly for him to catch it. He gripped the handles of the wheelchair too tightly, forcing himself to keep calm, as the two men walked toward the iron gates. 

He followed as the cameras watched the two men pass through the base. He watched as the base grew silent, as each member of the resistance paused whatever they were doing, turned, nodded and smiled at the newcomer. 

Another tear fell too quickly, as his friend passed through the core members of the resistance: Bahorel and Feuilly, Jehan and Joly, Eponine, Marius. Gavroche was rushing toward them, armed with the blueprints for the new jaeger, ready to show. 

"Give me a moment, coordinator," he said, as he steered toward the farther door, to an empty hall. 

"Sure, pal, sure." 

In the hall, he let his head fall back onto the wheelchair backrest, and let the tears stream over his cheeks. 

 

.....................................

He closed his eyes as he held a hand over his heart. He was close, yet he still spoke to him from the Drift. 

"Just a little bit more, my friend, my darkness. Just a little bit more. Come to me." 

He wiped his eyes dry with a kerchief, and composed himself to face him. After too many months, too many moments of seeing him only in his mind and his thoughts. 

He heard Courfeyrac speak past the door. “Missed you, pal,” the coordinator said, in his sincere, warm, and cheerful way. Grantaire was everyone’s friend, even if he did not think so. 

He heard Gavroche as he charged in and spread out the schematics and blueprints of the Drift Singularity. “We have managed to salvage enough of the parts to make a new jaeger,” the little mechanic proudly and happily said, happier than he had ever heard the boy in quite a while. Gavroche was a favorite friend of the co-pilot, who listened to the drunk stories when everyone else went to bed. 

Then he heard, aloud, the voice he had been wanting for so long to hear. 

"No. Please, no."

His heart caught, as the control center also fell into silence.

That voice kept speaking, outside of his mind and his heart. It was still lost.

"I can’t. There’s too much noise in my brain. I can’t synch. I can’t. Please don’t make me." 

He felt the confusion, the terror, the anguish in those words from his mind, from the Drift. 

"Please. Do not make me pilot. Do not make me synch. Please."

Enjolras had had enough. He opened the door. 

He found a broken young man with dark curly hair, hunched over into as small a ball as could be made, hiding his face and eyes in his knees, covering his ears and head with his hands. The co-pilot shook and sobbed. 

Enjolras found his darkness. 

He wanted to run up to him and wrap his arms around him and tell him all was well again. But his legs would not let him. He sighed. He hated his weakness, all of a sudden. 

Everyone else looked at him silently, waiting for his next move. Courfeyrac grinned and nudged him. Combeferre smiled and nodded. 

He quietly steered the wheelchair up to the quivering, sobbing, fearful ball of Grantaire. 

He spoke gently. “Not even…with me?” 

The sobbing halted.

The shaking paused.

The eyes opened as the breath gasped. 

The hands unclasped over the head. The arms lowered. 

The head raised. The eyes widened.

The mouth opened as the jaw dropped and the breath caught again. 

Enjolras stretched forth a hand, held it out to him. He smiled. 

The co-pilot looked at him and at the hand, like an abandoned stray staring at the kind someone who found him. He touched the hand with a finger, then withdrew it. He curled up again. 

Enjolras kept smiling, kept the hand out toward him. 

The co-pilot peered at him and at the offered hand. Still curled up, he reached out again, touched the hand again.

Enjolras reached for the hand and held it inside his own. He held the hand in both of his own, and kissed it, as a few tears fell onto it. 

The co-pilot knelt before him, and let Enjolras hold his hand. He looked up at him, bewildered, stunned, relieved, terrified, assured. “How…when…WHY?” 

"I know the answers matter," Enjolras said. "But not right now. Not right now. You are here, holding my hand. That matters now."

The co-pilot looked up, and looked well at the wheelchair. His face fell. He let tears drop onto the floor. He withdrew his hand again. He held his head again, and rocked on the floor. “This is my fault, my fault, my fault…If not for me…”

Enjolras reached out. He gently held Grantaire’s shoulders, and kissed his head of unruly disheveled curls. 

"No, this was never your fault, nor mine," he assured him. "It’s a kaiju’s fault, if anything. But it was never yours, nor mine."

"But…but…"

"I love you, my partner, my darkness. Never leave me again."

Grantaire looked up at him again. “Those…those words…in the Drift…”

"Yes, they were mine."

The co-pilot finally relaxed, and smiled at him. “My light.” 

Enjolras nodded and held his partner's head. “Always.”


	10. afterword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely the final chapter of this work. There will be probably be more, but that will be another story thing under this series. 
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading.

Combeferre scratched his head. “Isn’t this taking a bit too long?” he asked. The entire base was worried, not just him. 

"We can’t rush it, sorry," Courfeyrac told him. 

Combeferre sighed. 

The laboratory was in organized chaos. A large monitor loomed over to one side that everyone looked at regularly. It displayed the neural synchronicity of two pilots, their hands clasped together as they lay on adjacent beds.

"Both pilots have been enmeshed with the Drift for 27650 minutes," spoke Jehan, pointing to his displays. "This is 25,560 minutes beyond the acceptable limit of Drift enmeshment…." 

"The neural patterns of both patients are damaged at the parietotemporal lobes and the amydala," said Joly. "The overdose has also affected the brainstem, the serotonergic receptors, the norepinephrine pathways…" 

"The neural handshake, the synchronicity, is too consolidated," added Courfeyrac. "We have sort out which part of the synch belongs to which neural waveform, and separate it from the other…" 

"Will the three of you, PLEASE speak English!" Combeferre held his head. 

"Um….well, to put it simply," Courfeyrac said, "Enjolras and Grantaire are too tangled together. It’s affected the attachments to the Drift, to the neural handshake, and to each other. It’s not easy to untangle." 

"Can’t you all take a break, then?" They had been at it for at least 24 hours. 

Joly shook his head. “To stop at this point would damage the neural patterns even further.”

"How much longer?" the center asked.

"Probably six more hours."

………………………..

The two pilots sorted out the memories within the synch. 

They first saw the thoughts each had of the moments when they came together, after so long. 

"These are mine," Enjolras said, showing him the relief, the joy of seeing him walk through the gates, as shown in the cameras. He showed him the sadness he found in a curled-up pilot, and the peace he found when Grantaire held his hand. He set them toward his side of the plane. 

Grantaire sorted his thoughts by talking of them, while placing them toward his own side. “You were a dream, a nightmare, a truth, a fallacy. I wanted to believe. I didn’t want to believe. But I touched your hand, then you held it. Then all was true.” 

They moved on to the farther memories, moment by moment. 

"You worried me terribly, when you did not reply." 

"I was not worth replying to. I wanted to end the pain, the screams, the thoughts." 

"You missed us defeating the kaiju. You did not see Eponine executing your techniques." 

"I wandered from here to there. I just did not want to think. I did not want to remember, did not want to forget." 

Then they reached the most painful part. 

"You screamed. It was the scream that I felt. I knew I was thrown up then dropped down. I felt your terror, your fright. But I blacked out somewhere in the middle of that. I remember the screams." 

"I was filled with your thoughts, the thoughts that sometimes you hide so deep you don’t know them yourself. None of those thoughts were for yourself. They were all jumbled-up thoughts of, what will happen to Grantaire, is he hurt, will he be killed, what about the others, what if they die because I failed them, what will I do, what happens to them now. None of those thoughts were about you. And that made me scream." 

"These memories are part of me now." 

"As they are part of mine." 

"They will make us better, stronger." 

"They will make me stop in the middle of a battle and wonder if it will happen again." 

"They will not, because we will be so good together that we will give them hell and it will never happen again." 

"So nice of you to say…" 

"No, we will make it true." 

"We?" 

"Yes, both of us. We." 

………………………………..

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Courfeyrac greeted him. "You’re early for lunch." 

Enjolras rubbed his eyes and regained his bearings. “Is it over?” 

"Last night. We just couldn’t wake you. Joly wants me to ask if you’re woozy or dizzy or something like that?" 

Enjolras shook his head. In doing so, he found the bed beside him, empty. 

"He’s gone. Again."

Enjolras sighed deeply and sunk his head. He felt like he could not go through another round of not having his partner and co-pilot with him. Not again. 

Courfeyrac patted his shoulder. “Relax, chief. R just walked around the base.” 

And on cue, Grantaire appeared at the door. “What is this I hear about lunch?” 

Enjolras smiled at him. “You’re just in time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EK out.


End file.
